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 "I am not a Musalman, Sir," said the Prince. "I am a Hindu."

"The rogue!" thought Diggaja. "He is certainly a Yavan; he is only trying to humbug me. He has some motive for this, else why should he call me in? Noble Khan Babu," said he sadly in alarm, "I know you, Sir, I live upon your bread; do not ill treat me, I pray you; I am your bond-slave, Sir."

Jagat Singha perceived the hitch.

"You are a Brahmin, Sir," said he, "and I am a Rajput. This language to me is therefore not befitting. Your name is Gajapati Vidyadiggaja?"

"Ha! look there!" thought Diggaja. "The fellow wants my name! God knows what a scrape he will bring me into! Have mercy upon me, noble Shaik," exclaimed he with joined hands. "Have mercy, I am a poor man, Sir. On my knees I beseech you."

From the Brahmin's extremity of fright, Jagat Singha saw it was impossible to make him answer his purpose by any direct means. Accordingly with the view of diverting his attention, he said,

"What puti have you got in your hand?"

"A work on Manikpir, so please you, Sir."

"You a Brahmin and carry a work on Manikpir?"

"Hem! hem! I was a Brahmin once, but not now."

The Prince was at once astonished and vexed.

"What say you? Didn't you live at Garmandaran?"

"Death and damnation O!" thought Diggaja. "He has even discovered that I lived at Virendra Singha's castle! He will deal with me even as they have done with Virendra Singha." Here the Brahmin burst into tears.